


Old Things

by ioo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, post breakup and makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioo/pseuds/ioo
Summary: Tooru hardly believes in fate. He likes to think about building his destiny, paving the way to success, to the olympics, to happiness, with the steps that he takes on his own.There is a part of him, however, the part of him made from the dust of ages past, of old kings and their loyal knights, perhaps, that likes to entertain the fantasy.





	Old Things

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for saso bonus round 2?? i think 
> 
> n i still like it so i decided to post it

"You still do that?"  
  
Tooru jumps at the sound of Hajime's voice, a voice that he's gotten so used to missing and wishing to hear, if only just one more time. Hajime is leaning against the doorframe, a foot hooked around an ankle, arms crossed and hair mussed. There's a small smile on his face, one that Tooru's only ever really seen beneath blankets, and hidden beneath the cup of Hajime's hand, until now. It's a sight so familiar and foreign at the same time, and Tooru can hardly handle the conflicting emotions raging, circling in his chest like a storm.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
Hajime tilts his head, gesturing at Tooru's hands, currently clutching his mug of coffee for dear life. It's still hard for him to process the fact that Hajime, his Iwa-chan, his everything for a while now, is back, living in the same space as him, under the same roof, without the static crawling up their spine and making everything a little too difficult to handle, a little too tense.  
  
"Make your coffee like that."  
  
Hajime pushes himself off the doorframe and steps into the kitchen, bare feet making no sound whatsoever against the cold tiles. It's disorienting, how ethereal the sight is. Tooru fights the urge to retreat, to scramble back and press himself against the opposite wall, because he feels like Hajime may just walk through him, prove to Tooru once and for all that this is just a dream.  
  
Instead, a warm hand lands on his lower back, and Hajime dips down to graze Tooru's bare shoulder with his lips, a good morning greeting of sorts. It's the tiniest hint of pressure, but it wakes Tooru up nonetheless, sends his heart skyrocketing along with his spirits. He lifts a hand, threads his fingers through Hajime's coarse hair and releases a breath he suspects he's been holding for much too long, weeks, maybe months, perhaps years.  
  
It feels good. It feels  _so_  good.  
  
"You put the sugar first, then the coffee, then the milk," Hajime mumbles, voice muffled by Tooru's skin. He shifts, pressing his forehead into the crook of Tooru's neck, and winds his arms around his waist. It's a tight, locked embrace, but Tooru has never felt more free. "You've always stuck to that pattern. It's nice to see that hasn't changed."  
  
Tooru looks down at his hands, down into his mug, empty save for a small pile of sugar. The coffee machine beeps, announcing the second part of his morning-coffee pattern, and Tooru realises that Hajime's right, but the revelation does not come as a surprise. Hajime's always known Tooru better than Tooru knows himself, always has been the one to notice the tiny little details that come together, like puzzle pieces, to form the person that Tooru is.  
  
Tooru knows the reverse is true for him, too. He knows each and every one of Hajime's quirks, what makes Hajime who he is, and who he will be. He knows that Hajime brushes his teeth with his left hand, despite being right handed. He knows that Hajime chews the ends of his pens and hates the smell of coins. He knows that Hajime puts three sugars in his coffee and is just as much of a sweet tooth as Tooru, but will never admit it because he was the first to get a cavity, and the wound on his pride is still fresh, thirteen years later.  
  
That's the thing about rediscovery, Tooru thinks. It's supposed to be this painful thing, because people can change so much in the course of a month, and it's been years, for them. Tooru finds himself wondering, is he going to have to walk through a minefield to be with Hajime again?  
  
_Do you still do that? Do you still behave like that? Does this still annoy you?_  
  
Question after question after question leads to hesitance. To be unsure around the one person who's managed to build your very foundations is like being robbed of a home, having the protective walls around your heart be torn down by a whirlwind of insecurities.  
  
With Hajime, though, Tooru finds that it is not as painful as he imagined.  
  
There's very little question about what they're like, two years down the line and fully healed from that awful fight. It's like something has tied them together, a constant flow of information linking the both of them, preventing one another from being in the dark, even as they begin to realise things about themselves. Tooru looking back on his behaviour and mourning the things he's said, and Hajime somehow aware, even now, of his guilt, and his regrets. Hajime thinking back to what he could've said, and Tooru sharing his thoughts, even now.  
  
Hanamaki's pointed out countless times how Tooru has changed, matured over the years, but Hajime still brings out the part of him that likes to whine, the part of him that wants all of Hajime's attention for himself and to marathon animated Disney movies all day, the one that wants to build blanket forts and renew his attempts at being a conspiracy theorist, just because he knows Hajime'd listen with utmost seriousness, no matter what Tooru encroaches on.  
  
Matsukawa's often spoken to Tooru about the way he seems to have gone more serious, to have lost some of his play, and though it is not bad, because they're growing up, and a certain level of maturity and social awareness is required from someone on the National Team, it is  _different._  Yet, Hajime still makes him want to pour an endless amount of pepper into his udon bowl, just to see his reaction, or steal the blankets from him when the windows are open and the nights bleeding from summer into fall become a little bit chilly, because an irritated Iwa-chan is one who pays attention solely to Tooru.  
  
Hajime doesn't seem so different, and neither does Tooru, but they know that they've changed, that they should be strangers to each other.  
  
And yet, they are not. This new relationship of theirs, though Tooru has been in a dream-haze ever since Hajime showed up at his door a month ago, is just like the old.  
  
Tooru hardly believes in fate. He likes to think about building his destiny, paving the way to success, to the olympics, to happiness, with the steps that he takes on his own. He likes to think that Hajime came back not due to a larger cosmic power, but from his own will. He knows that's what happened. He knows that they can't be apart for too long without gravitating back to each other like two stars, always circling around each other, so close to merging, but never quite there.  
  
There  _is_  a part of him, however, the part of him made from the dust of ages past, of old kings and their loyal knights, perhaps, that likes to entertain the fantasy. He thinks of the red string of fate, and wonders whether one of them might be tied to Hajime's pinky finger, and linked to his own. A strange and magical connection that shows up in unexpected places, one that manifests itself in tiny little things. Tooru feels that red string everywhere around him.  
  
It's in the second toothbrush, at the edge of the sink and labelled 岩. It's in the beat up sneakers sitting in the genkan, it's in the half of Tooru's closet, empty for years now, finally finding use housing shirts and work uniforms and Hajime's trademark nerdy t-shirts. It's in the computer on the kotatsu, and the extra phone charging on his nightstand. It's in the sound of running water in the bathroom when Tooru wakes up, and in the weight of Hajime's arm across his waist when he goes to sleep. It's in the smell of Hajime's shampoo permeating their bedsheets, and in the sound of him coming home from work in the evening.  
  
It's in the old things that don't seem so old anymore, like habits, and scars and birthmarks, and the smell of a coffee that's only made in a certain way, and the hands sneaking under the material of Tooru's sweater, grazing the flesh of his abdomen and sparking a pleasant flutter in his chest.  
  
"This is familiar, then, isn't it?" he whispers, finally finding it in himself to reach above him for a second mug.  
  
He feels the ghost of Hajime's laughter against the skin of his neck, and decides that this is much, much better than a dream.


End file.
